


Fereldan Hearts, Starkhaven Kilts

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Handers Reverse Big Bang 2018, Kilts, M/M, Plot Reasons, Porn With Very Little Plot, Rimming, both are Switches, for, handjobs, quick allusion to past abuse, the kilt was really just a reason for sex, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 13:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15025211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: A charity benefit party prompts a new outfit, and Hawke and Anders figure out how to put it on... with some distractions.





	Fereldan Hearts, Starkhaven Kilts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Handers Reverse Big Bang 2018, curated and coordinated by [@Reikah](http://reikah.tumblr.com/) and [@mikkeneko](http://mikkeneko.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. 
> 
> I was paired up with @mrgabel for the beautiful art! LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL ART! 
> 
> Check out [@mrgabel's work](http://mrgabel.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> Thanks especially to my awesome betas, [aban_asaara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aban_asaara) and [teiranlavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAIinquisitorLavellan). Without them, I'd have no idea what either of these two characters are doing. Thanks, also, to the wonderful folks on the "Writers of Thedas," "Handers Reverse Bang," and "Dragon Age Discord" servers for letting me bounce some ideas off of them.

The afternoon sun streamed through the open curtains of the bedroom windows as Anders rolled to lay crossways on the bed, his bare skin still damp and warm from the bath. He rubbed his hands down his face before peering up at Garrett.

“You want me to try on a… what, exactly?”

Garrett disappeared into the dressing room before emerging with two folded bundles of fabrics, his wine-red robe swishing about his knees.

Glancing over the fabric, Anders frowned, taking in the raw but tidy edges. “I think you may have forgotten a step in making our outfits,” he hazarded.

Garrett laughed and set the cloths on the bed. “They’re supposed to be this way, love. They’re called kilts. Supposedly popular among the Starkhaven populace.”

“Oh, we’re not actually _going_ to his party, are we?” Anders groaned and tossed his head over the edge of the bed, long hair trailing down as he looked up at his lover. “You forget the man might not outright hate me, but he certainly doesn’t hold any great affection for me, either.”

“It's for charity," Hawke reminded him. "It's for a good cause. Orphans or... the needy or something. Something like that. And Sebastian’s a good man, and a good friend. Maybe a little tightly laced, but come on - he’s lived in the Chantry for the last decade or so. He’s even got a sense of humor, it’s just… dry.”

“And buried under Andraste’s face, I think,” Anders said, rolling his eyes.

Garrett unfold a long length of the checkered fabric. Curiosity won out at the way the fine wool draped easily over Garrett’s hands, and Anders couldn’t help but take it between his fingers.

“At least he’s got good sense,” Anders said. “Red and black always look good on you, though I’m not sure of the plaid. Does the silver accent even _go_ with red?”

“Very funny. Fashion critique from someone who, I swear, wears mismatched and ill-fitting clothes on purpose.” Garrett unrolled the other bolt and draped it over Anders’ bare chest with a smile. “See, this one is for you—blue, silver and black. Might be a little too Warden-y, but I hoped you might like it. It made me think of you and Justice.”

The combination _was_ rather fetching, Anders admitted to the ever-growing warmth in his stomach, present at any of Garrett’s displays of affection. The weave rendered the cloth plush and soft in the way that only fine, expensive wool could be. He ran his hand along the fabric, tracing the checkered patterns.

“He likes it, too,” Anders murmured absently at the spirit’s hesitantly appreciative nod. “Well. It’s lovely, at least. Not sure how all this makes an outfit, though.”

Hawke beamed and gathered the red fabric together, roughly wrapping it about his hips. “Like this, but, uh, different, slightly,” he said, tossing one end over his shoulder.

Anders raised an amused brow. “So it’s a... skirt. That we’re going to wear in public. In front of your friends.”

“They’re your friends, too, and it’s not quite a skirt, it’s a - okay, it’s kind of a skirt.” Garrett trailed off. Worrying his lip, he looked from Anders back to the fabrics. “You don’t have to wear yours, if you don’t want to,” he said, divesting himself of the cloth and letting it drop to the floor.

“Hawke, I didn’t mean -”

“I’ll need your help pleating mine, though, if you don’t mind. I think this looks wonderful; plus, everyone else will be wearing theirs, so it’ll be like a matched set. It’ll be great.”

Anders frowned slightly, his earlier thought forgotten. “Everyone has one?”

“Yeah, and in personalized colors, too. Gold, white, and blue for our pirate queen, of course; Varric’s got his in red, gold, and brown; Fenris is some sort of grey, silver, black combination, I think? Aveline is red, silver, and white; and Merrill’s is done in green, gold, and brown. Well, I’m pretty sure, at least. It’s been a while since Sebastian asked me about ordering these.”

Anders groaned. Of course, _of course_ Hawke was in on whatever this was. He would see them all embarrassed before the night was through.

“But, it’s fine if you don’t want to wear it, my love. Or even go, if you don’t want to, really.”

He shook his head. “You’re still injured, you know. That dagger went right through you. It could have killed you.” Anders glared at the robe-clad shoulder in question, as if it could heal any faster under his stare. “You shouldn’t be out, gallivanting at a party…”

Anders bit his lip, his roles as healer and lover arguing between themselves in his head. “But I’ll go with you,” he said finally. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble. Knowing you, you’d set something on fire, tear open your shoulder again, and somehow insult the Empress of Orlais. All within the first five minutes.”

Garrett rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Yes, because we all know what a tempering force you are on me, my sweet. Come on,” he said, “let’s work out these pleats first—I’d hate to show up looking all a mess.”

“That would be the worst of the night’s indignities, wouldn’t it?” Anders chuckled and climbed off the bed as Garrett drew the table and chairs away. A belt and the long length of red plaid—Maker, there was a lot of it—was laid flat over the rug before the hearth.

Anders gently shouldered Garrett away to kneel before the ensemble. “I hope you have some idea of how this is supposed to go…”

Garrett laughed, the deep sound stoking the fire that quickly grew to burn in Anders’ belly. “I even have written instructions from the Prince himself, hold on.” With a quick dash back into the dressing room, Hawke retrieved a list of directions.

Anders absently noted Sebastian’s neat script as he read, taking in the quick sketches meant to illustrate the instructions. _Well, if we’re going to look ridiculous, might as well do it right_ , he thought. The page sat next to the fabric as he began to pleat, methodically matching up the columns as indicated. He ignored the shuffling behind him, Garrett no doubt enjoying the view.

“You know, Isabela mentioned something about kilts. Met a guy who took to wearing one, apparently.”

Anders groaned and focused on the pleating, his eyes darting between the instructions and the fabric. “I can only imagine what kind of input she has on the subject.”

“Mm. Did you know that, traditionally, these aren’t worn with smalls?”

Anders heard the smile in Garrett’s voice before he felt him, a rough hand sneaking over the back of his bare thigh. Blunt nails scraped down the sensitive skin and Anders couldn’t fight the shiver that ran through him.

 _“...Oh.”_ His fingers clenched the fabric as Garrett’s calloused hands roamed over his thighs, drawing a low groan from his throat. Inquisitive fingers swept upward to splay over his arse, kneading and cupping his flesh. “You keep this up, we’re going to— _Garrett._ ”

“We’ve got time, don’t worry. Still some hours yet.” Garrett’s thumbs trailed down over the cleft of his cheeks to pull him apart. Anders felt himself quiver at the sudden warmth of Garrett’s breath on him. His beard rasped against Anders’ cheeks while lips pressed sucking kisses.

“You’re gorgeous like this, you know,” Garrett murmured into his flesh, raking his teeth to follow his kisses. A broad thumb feathered over Anders’ entrance, drawing a low moan from his throat; Anders chased the fleeting sensation, rocking back helplessly.

“So beautiful, Anders. So good.”

The fabric forgotten, Anders leaned into Garrett’s tough hands, pressing closer, harder into his grip while those wide hands massaged his arse again. “We’re going to ruin this kilt,” he warned.

“Ah, you’re right. Can’t have that!” The air was cool on his skin where Garrett abandoned him.

“No, wait - g _et back here!”_ Anders demanded, but Garrett had come to his feet already. He huffed and rose to his knees.

Any further protest withered on his tongue as Garrett sat down on the pleated fabric. Somewhere between the dressing room and this moment he had silently divested himself of his clothes, and now only wore a wicked smile and eager erection. 

“Why don’t you help me put this on?” Garrett suggested with a throaty chuckle, patting his thighs.

“Knickerweasels, you will be the death of me,” Anders swore with a smile, even as he crawled into Garrett’s lap. His own cock uncomfortably hard, he settled on Hawke’s broad thighs, managing to finagle the flat ends of the fabric - _aprons, the instructions called them,_ Anders thought distantly - over Garrett’s abdomen well enough to secure his belt.

“Not ideal, but I think this will do.” His words left him with a waver as he fumbled with the metal clasp. “I think it will hold, at least.”

Hawke’s hands found Anders’ hips as soon as the belt buckle snapped shut, angling his hips to rub against him. Their cocks slid against each other, only separated by the soft wool.

Anders groaned when Hawke’s fingers crept to his arse to knead at his muscles. Every squeeze of those firm hands had him rocking helplessly, pinned between Hawke and their shared growing desire. 

_“Garrett…!”_

He bent down to capture Garrett’s mouth, nipping and sucking at his full lips before insistently thrusting his tongue into his warm wetness. Anders flipped the fabric between them away to reveal the taut muscles of Garrett’s abdomen and rubbed shamelessly between their stomachs. He groaned, the muffled noise rumbling through his chest. Garrett whined sweetly, the sound fanning the flames of his growing desperation.

Garrett’s questing fingers against his hole had him snarling into his mouth. He was tempted to conjure some grease and have his way with him now, despite Justice’s flare of concern about the state of the gifted kilt. Anders tore himself away from the heaven that was Garrett’s mouth, drinking in the blissful, lust-filled gaze of those deep, dark eyes.

“Bed. Now _,_ ” Anders commanded. He rose, cock twitching against his stomach at the lack of friction. Anders strode to the bedside table, finding and warming the glass vial of oil with a small touch of heat. A glance over his shoulder revealed the fabric draping attractively over Hawke’s hips to show off the lean lines of his body—and the impressive tent of his hard cock. _“Now,”_ he insisted again, even as Garrett fumbled with the latch of his belt buckle.

“Bossy, bossy,” Garrett murmured, but he eagerly sat down on the edge of the mattress, hands reaching out enticingly.

Anders sank to his knees with practiced ease. His cheekbones rubbed against Garrett’s thick thighs as they spread for him, and he nosed away the raw edges of the kilt. His mouth trailed wet kisses over Garrett’s skin as he licked and sucked his way to his prize. They both groaned when Anders’ exploration brought him to Garrett’s cock.

Garrett hissed at the contact and half-smothered a thrust when Anders pressed his tongue against him, laving his hard length from root to tip.

He smiled as Garrett fisted his golden hair with trembling hands. Anders slid back the foreskin with patient fingers and, catching Garrett’s heated gaze, took his cock deep into the warmth of his mouth, slowly stretching to bring him into his throat.

“Fuck, Anders, yes!”

The fists in his hair only goaded him on. Anders wrapped his hand around the base of Garrett’s cock, mouth and fingers moving in tandem. His free hand cupped and fondled Hawke’s heavy sac, fingers dragging lower through a film of saliva to brush against Garrett’s entrance.

Garrett cursed explosively and alternated between thrusting into Anders’ mouth and grinding down on his fingers, whining when the fingers only teased and didn’t breach him.

Anders felt himself leaking precome as Garrett’s cock thrust greedily between his lips. His own cock strained for attention at every murmur of praise and choked cry that fell in the quiet room.  

“Ah, my love, I’m gonna -”

He squeezed his hand at the base of Garrett’s cock and stilled his movements, cutting off the words.

Garrett gave a strained laugh and tugged on his hair. “Oh, you beautiful _bastard,_ ” he nearly howled, hips rocking desperately. His protests dissolved into a needy whine when Anders pulled off with a sucking _pop_ and grinned.

“This is for teasing me in the bath earlier,” Anders chuckled. “Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish.” He blew a jet of air over the glistening flesh and chuckled at the resulting quiver, turning to mouth open kisses over Hawke’s groin.

_“Anders!”_

He laughed into the crease of Garrett’s thigh. “What, you don’t want me to leave you aching?” he asked before delivering light, chaste kisses there. “I wonder how helpful these kilts can be - why don’t we experiment?”

Garrett’s hands pulled again on his hair, begging for movement, to no avail. Anders met his hot gaze. “Please,” Garrett begged, eyes wild, “I need, I need -”

The words cut off with a long drag of Anders’ tongue on Garrett’s cock. “I know what you need; I’ve got you.” He rose to catch Hawke’s lips with his own as they crawled backwards over the mattress. “Move your kilt,” Anders growled into his mouth, “unless you don’t mind it getting ruined before the party.”

He had never seen Garrett move so fast as when he ripped the fabric away from between them.

Anders snatched a pillow to prop him up and open. A smile broke across his face at the sight: Garrett Hawke, the illustrious Champion of Kirkwall, flushed nearly as red as his kilt, cock quivering in anticipation between his trembling thighs.

“You’re so beautiful, my Hawke.” He retrieved the oil from the side table and slicked his fingers, reveling in the way Garrett watched his motions with rapt attention. Anders trailed his greased fingers over around Garrett’s entrance, teasing until his lover shivered with need.

“P-Please!”

The way Hawke moaned - drawn out, insistent, demanding - sent a shudder down Anders’ spine. Anders pressed one slicked finger into him, his free hand gripping Garrett’s hip as he slowly stretched him open, soon working in a second digit with long, measured strokes. His free hand moved to ghost over his own cock, loose fist sliding over himself.

Three fingers had Garrett begging, and by the time Anders curled his fingers to hit his prostate, the whining had turned incoherent. Anders leaned over to lick into his mouth, tongue mimicking the motion of his fingers, and swallowed Garrett’s whimpers as his reward.

Garrett groaned when they broke apart. Anders poured another pool of slick into his hand and fisted his own cock, coating it with the thick oil before kneeling again between Hawke’s legs. With a grin, he braced himself on one arm and teasingly rubbed his cockhead against his entrance.

Hawke shifted to bring a leg to rest over Anders’ shoulder, thighs spread wide. “Anders,” Garrett moaned, eyes shining with need, “fuck me.”

“I would deny you nothing,” Anders promised. He sank into Hawke’s body inch by inch, the incredible tightness threatening to pull him over the edge too soon. Grinding his teeth, Anders struggled to breathe through it; he wrapped his arm around Hawke’s leg, pressing deep until they were seated together. With a shuddering sigh he lay a kiss to Garrett’s knee.

Hawke whimpered beneath him, giving him permission to move after they both settled into position. Garrett liked long, slow thrusts, at odds with Anders’ own needs for rougher treatment, but the lengthy movements drew such beautiful, needy noises from his lover’s throat. He slid Hawke’s other thigh over the crook of his elbow and used the leverage to aid his thrusts, canting his hips into the perfect angle.

Anders shuddered at the sudden vice grip of Garrett clenching around his cock, his lover’s cry echoing through the room. Anders leaned forward, dragging his mouth against the column of Garrett’s sweat-slicked throat. He muffled his own groans into Hawke’s shoulder,

He could feel the pressure rising, the heaviness of his sac as he neared completion. Anders wrapped Garrett’s thigh around his hip to capture his cock, stroking his throbbing length. Garrett swore with a ragged breath, his curse dissolving into frantic mewling as they bucked together, his hands scrambling for purchase in Anders’ hair.

Garrett came into Anders’ tight fist with a strangled scream. Shuddering muscles clenched around Anders, and with another handful of long thrusts he followed, crying out as he flooded Hawke’s body.

Warm arms pulled Anders close as he panted, grinding lazily into Hawke’s arse until he collapsed against him. Garrett nuzzled at his ear and throat, at any sweat-slick skin he could get his mouth on.

“I love you,” Garrett murmured between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Anders turned his head to capture those words between their lips. If only he could swallow them as easily as he did food and drink, then he might keep them forever to warm the cold corners of his soul. He shuddered against the sharp turn his thoughts had taken, and dragged another low whine from Garrett as he nibbled on his lower lip.

He groaned and rose reluctantly, slipping from Garrett’s embrace to pad to the washroom. “We really need to keep towels in the bedroom,” Anders called glibly. “I would hate to run into the others in the hallway. I can see it now. ‘Oh hello, Orana! Why, yes, I _did_ just fuck Master Hawke boneless, how do you do?’ Poor woman might die of shock.”

Garrett’s laugh reached him from across the hallway. “You can always wear a robe, you nudist!”

Anders quickly took care of his bathing and found himself in front of the mirror. Garrett had started insisting that they eat together, likely to ensure that he ate at all, and it was starting to show. He twisted slightly in the glass to eye his still-thin frame with a worried frown.

“I’m indulging too much, aren’t I?” He sighed. “Don’t answer that, Justice, I know your answer. I just… I want to have this. I want to keep him, as long as I can,” he said to his reflection. It never was easy to _talk_ with the spirit, even before they had joined, but he tried anyway, more a reflex than any need for conversation.

Anders trailed his hands down his chest and abdomen, curving into the slopes and hollows of his body. The slight padding of his belly was unfamiliar after years of exhaustion and malnutrition.

“He’s good to me… Please, let me love him.”

His reflection said nothing. Anders shook his head and returned to the task at hand, drying off before carrying a small basin of water and the towel back to the bedchamber.

Hawke’s blissful face waited for him when he entered the room, and it struck him again, like it always did, that both of them could be _happy_. “I love that smile,” Anders said, voice soft. “You look so content, Garrett. I… I’m glad to be part of it.”

Garrett groaned as Anders knelt before him, cleaning up their mess before tossing the towel and curling up beside him. They were a tangle of limbs and skewed fabric as they lay together, Garrett’s calloused hands running down Anders’ back soothingly.

“I love you,” Garrett said. He pulled back slightly to peer into Anders’ face, his hands raising to cradle the sharp lines of his jaw. “I love you, Anders. I know that sometimes it must be terrifying, or foreign, or whatever weirdness it makes you feel, but I do.” He pressed light kisses over Anders’ nose and lips. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours… and if I have to fuck that knowledge into you for you to know it, I will.”

Anders laughed at the shift in his tone. “Oh, you will, will you? How generous of you!”

Hawke only gazed up at him with hooded eyes and he could feel the not-at-all subtle roll of his hips. “Again? Now?” Anders asked, the answering grind sending a frisson of _want_ through him.

“We have time,” Garrett said, nibbling at his jaw, “and I have an incredibly beautiful Grey Warden to satisfy.”

Anders pretended to consider. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Garrett snorted and scraped his teeth down Anders’ throat. “Is that a yes?” he asked before latching at his throat, sucking a bruise into his fair skin.

Anders could only whine, his nails digging into the muscles of Garrett’s shoulders at the assault on his neck.

“I need to hear you say it, Anders.” Garrett’s ragged voice was thick with need. He dragged his mouth down Anders’ skin, nipping at his neck and shoulders.

Anders shuddered at the pressure of Garrett’s clothed groin against his own, their hips rolling together through the fabric.

“We don’t have to, but if you want to, I need you to say it.”

 _“Yes,_ ” he hissed, nails scoring down Garrett’s back. He arched into his reward, a sharp bite to his shoulder. Anders rose to his hands and knees with Garrett’s calloused fingers digging his hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, aching with need; it jumped when Garrett’s tongue licked a wet path over the swell of his arse, followed by lips and teeth.

“Maker, Hawke,” Anders gasped, leaning down to rest on his forearms. He wriggled in Garrett’s grasp, fingers biting into his hip bones as Garrett pulled him back.

Garrett nuzzled at his arse, his soft beard tickling against the thin skin. “You’re so good, my love,” he murmured. His hands spread Anders’ legs and gently drew his cheeks apart. “So very good for me.” He mouthed his way over his arse to lick and suck at his balls, drawing his tongue up before finally setting where Anders so desperately wanted him.

The wet lick of Garrett’s tongue against his entrance nearly undid him, his nerves still buzzing with unspent need and energy from earlier. Warden stamina might save him in the Deep Roads but it demanded so much from him everywhere else, and Hawke seemed all the more willing to provide for him. Anders rocked back against his mouth, balling his fists the bedspread as Garrett laved wetly behind him. He moaned with abandon at the light touches of his calloused fingers.  

_“Fuck!”_

Garrett chuckled, stiffening his tongue to fuck him in earnest with his mouth. His thumbs rubbed circles just outside the tight ring of muscle. Anders cried out when Garrett’s mouth worked him open and _by the Maker_ he might come clenched tight around that talented tongue.

He reached a hand down his body to wrap around his own cock, aching and dripping onto the bedspread. Blankets be damned, it was becoming too much.

“Garrett!”

A particularly slick, hard thrust of his tongue rocked through him and sent him sprawling forward onto his shoulders, face smothered in the bedclothes. Maker, he loved it when Garrett got needy, when his impatience translated into roughness, his hands biting into whatever flesh they’d been cupping. Garrett’s thumb pressed into him, slick with spit, as he pulled his mouth away.

“Fuck me, fuck me!” Anders begged into the blankets, rocking his hips to take him in further. A cool stream of oil trickled over his arse and he heard the distinct tinkling of metal - the belt?

Oh _Maker,_ was he going to use that belt?

Panic bled into his desire at the thought, the mere idea of leather snapping against his arse sending a flood of terror to combat his arousal. He quivered. Hawke wouldn’t… He buried his face into the thick blankets. Hawke kept him safe, he wouldn’t hurt him like that, Anders reminded his racing heart.

He relaxed again at the comforting weight of Garrett’s hands on him, belt-free and warm.

“Are you okay?” Hawke asked, kneading at his muscles. He smoothed one hand over Anders’ spine, rubbing his back and flanks. “I’m here, Anders. I would never hurt you.”

Anders swallowed down the panic and leaned into the touch. His eyes shuttered closed at the contact. “I’m okay,” he said thickly. Anders wriggled his hips. “Hawke, please...”

“I’ve got you, my love,” Garrett crooned, rubbing slicked fingers over his skin, teasing until he nearly cried with frustration. Thick fingers pushed into him slowly, drawing a long, keening cry from his throat.

 _I might actually die._ Anders rocked into the thrusts of Hawke’s hand. His own dragged over his cock, lubricated with the oil that trickled down the cleft of his arse to his sac. He clenched around Garrett’s fingers as he opened him.

“Maker, you’re needy, love.” Garrett’s laughter escaped him on a shuddering breath, and without seeing him Anders could tell that he was just as affected as he was.

“And you’re taking too long.” Anders whined at the sudden loss of Garrett’s fingers, wiggling backwards to chase after that fullness. “I - oh _fuck._ ”

Garrett thrust forward, pulling Anders onto his cock, quickly seated himself inside. Just as he needed. Just as they both needed, judging by the sharp groan coming from behind him. Anders rose to his hands, bucking into Garrett’s rough strokes.

He arched his back, rocking his hips to meet Garrett’s thrusts. From the corner of his eye, Anders spied the kilt that lay abandoned, slipping to the floor from the plush mattress. A laugh bubbled in his chest for a moment at the ridiculous sight before it was dislodged by a deep groan.

Hawke pulled Anders up to press his back against his broad chest, enveloping him in strong arms honed by years with a blade. Garrett drew him even harder down his cock, one hand on Anders’ hip and the other grappling his shoulder. The angle was harsh, each punishing stroke driving Hawke’s cock directly into Anders’ prostate. Anders could only hang on for dear life when Garrett fisted his fingers around his cock.

“I’m yours, Anders,” Garrett panted into his ear. He swiveled his thumb over Anders’ leaking slit with every tight stroke. “Tell me you know that. Tell me you believe it. Please.”

Anders clutched desperately at Garrett’s arms, urging his hand to move harder over his throbbing cock. “Mine,” he groaned, and Hawke snapped his hips to drive himself harder, _deeper_ into him as if to prove it, to brand himself into Anders’ body. “Mine!”

“Yours,” Hawke groaned, and bit down into Anders’ shoulder.

Anders came with a shout, spilling in rough spurts over his abdomen and Garrett’s hand. His body tensed and clenched around the hard cock in his arse, dragging a muffled curse from the mouth at his shoulder. Hawke clutched him close, burying himself as deep as he could before filling him with come, tense and quivering..

They collapsed into a panting, shuddering tangle of limbs. Hawke’s softening cock slipped from Anders, the absence drawing a low moan from his throat.

“I wish you could just magic us clean,” Garrett muttered, wrapping his arms around Anders’ waist.

“That’d make things too easy, and we’d never get out of bed.” Anders shuddered with one last aftershock of his climax.

“Surely we wouldn’t need to do something so mundane as get out of bed?”

Anders rolled his eyes and smiled to himself, trailing his fingers along Garrett’s forearm. “You know, you’d think so, but the Champion of Kirkwall keeps getting himself invited to these ridiculous parties and soirees. And the idiot keeps saying ‘yes’ to every invitation.”

Hawke chuckled, nipping at Anders’ earlobe. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to get ready for each one together, then. Safety in numbers and all that. What do you say?”

That got an earnest laugh out of Anders, who turned to face him. “I’ll allow it,” he joked magnanimously, capturing Garrett’s mouth with a lazy kiss. “But maybe we should work on not being late to your friend’s birthday party.”

“We have time,” came Garrett’s satisfied reply.

* * *

Two hours in the bath and as many orgasms later, they were clean - or as clean as Hawke could get with his dirty mind, Anders reflected with a self-satisfied smile.

Hawke supervised as Anders re-pleated the red wool and helped him into the kilt properly, then returned the favor as he wrapped himself in the blue, silver, and black of his own.

“You’re sure about going topless, then.” Anders couldn’t help but raise a dubious brow at the plan.

“It will be fun,” Garrett promised with a wide grin. “Besides, I want to see how red I can make Sebastian blush!”

Anders groaned. “Why does this idea have Isabela’s name written all over it?”

“Because it was her plan, actually, but we figured she might get thrown out if she went for it. Or arrested.”

Anders snorted. He adjusted the long expanse of fabric that hung freely down his legs and tucked them into the belted waist, smoothing them against the linen of his shirt.

A sidelong glance found Garrett straining to pin the ends of the fabric over his injured shoulder. “Oh, for the - let me fix that for you, Garrett. You’re going to bust that bandage right off,” Anders insisted.

Garrett sat down on the nearby bench, grumbling under his breath. Anders picked off the bandaging on his left shoulder.

“It’s fine, Anders, it’s just as good as it was twenty minutes ago, when you last checked,” Garrett chided gently, though he bent and stretched as he was bid. Anders was in full healer mode; there was little point in resisting.

“Yes, well, I have to make sure.” Anders frowned slightly. “You don’t want to lose your sword arm, after all.”

“Maker, anything but that!”

Garrett was quiet as Anders poked and prodded, a steady ball of magelight cast above his head to provide more direct light than the small fire that flickered in the hearth. “How does it look, my good healer?”

“Not pleasant, but no change from earlier. Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to just take care of it?”

Garrett looked over his shoulder as Anders rebandaged the wound, repacking the small poultice directly on top of the stitches. “I’m fine, my love,” he reminded him. He snaked a hand around the booted calf that rested on the bench beside him. “I’d healed from worse scrapes before you tumbled into my bed, you remember.”

Anders snorted but nodded his agreement. “Yes, the great Garrett Hawke, covered in badly healing wounds that leave jagged scars. It’s amazing how you’re not beating more people off with a stick, the way you go about all topless and scarred.”

“The only person I’m interested in _beating off_ is a certain golden-haired healer who worries too much,” Garrett leered, hand traveling over the expanse of Anders’ booted calf to move up his thigh.

Anders flushed and batted at his hand. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt anything if you just let me do my job and treat your injury, Garrett,” Anders muttered with exasperation, his fingers raking through Hawke’s beard and tugging for good measure. “You could just let me take care of you for once.”

“You take care of me all the time, Anders,” Garrett said softly, catching Anders’ fingers with one hand. “You always do. I just want to take care of you, make sure you’re not spending more energy and time on me than you need.” He paused, a grin sweeping over his face. “And to _take care_ of you.”

Anders laughed and rolled his eyes, arranging and pinning the wool into a broad sash over Garrett’s left shoulder before stepping away. “Knickerweasels, Hawke, you’re incorrigible. Maybe you’re spending too much time with Isabela, sounds like she’s rubbing off on you.”

He smiled at Garrett’s resounding laughter and moved to the table, where their accessories lay ready to accent their outfits. Anders tugged on a thin leather vest, his smile fading as his stomach fell to his feet: the delicately ornate garment was likely worth as much as the collection of lyrium potions locked away in his clinic.

Maker knew he was an ass, but Anders hoped these gifts were truly bought by Sebastian, however the priestly prince would have managed it, and not purchased by Garrett’s own treasury. He didn’t know why it was better that way, but it was.

“Hey.”

Anders turned at Garrett’s soft voice, meeting his dark eyes.

“These were gifts from Sebastian” he promised. “You don’t have to worry about these. He specifically gifted these to you because he appreciates you. Like I do.” Garrett paused. “Well, probably not _exactly_ like I do, but I wouldn’t blame him if he did. You’re amazing.”

Anders snorted. “Am I that easy to read?” He raised a hand to trace the shell of Hawke’s ear affectionately.

“Sometimes, but I think I just know you that well.” Garrett draped the leather belt of a sporran around Anders’ hips, the small pocketed bag hanging rather impolitely over his groin.

A burst of laughter erupted from Anders as he swung his hips, the sporran swaying with the movements.

“See? Now you and Sebastian will have something in common. Weird shit over your junk might even be a bonding experience in Starkhaven, who knows!”

Anders twined their fingers together and bent his brow to Garrett’s own. “Thank you, Garrett. You always know just what to say.”

“Oh good - I mean, I talk enough, surely something has to come out right at some point, right?”

He snorted and pressed a soft kiss to Garrett’s lips. “I love you,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. “Sometimes I’m scared by that, scared of what that means, but I do - I do love you.”

Garrett looked back at him with silent awe for a moment, his dark brown eyes warm in the firelight. “That's... Well, I love you too, you scaredy cat. So let’s be scared together, okay?”

Anders nodded and rubbed their noses together. “Okay.” He straightened and gave a hesitant smile. “Now let’s go crash the Chantry brother’s party with your nakedness; I’m rather interested in how much a man can blush before he explodes.”

“See, I told you it was a good idea!”

They laughed as they completed their outfits, throwing on thick cloaks to ward off the night’s chill before setting off for the party hand in hand.

* * *

Incidentally, no one was arrested or thrown out that evening - but Anders considered everyone else in the room lucky that he hadn’t had opportunity to bring his staff. Wandering hands would have found themselves the unlucky recipients of a short lick of fire as Hawke mingled with the other guests.

 _Maybe I’ll get a shorter staff, or maybe another focus,_ he mused. He didn’t consider himself a jealous man, but the overly appreciative stares did something to him. Garrett must have noticed; he would always break away from one conversation or another either to draw Anders into the conversation or ignore the others entirely.

There may have been some nervous titters from some of the guests as Hawke tried to figure out just how well he could make Anders’ knees go weak in the middle of the ballroom; Anders couldn’t bring himself to care overly much.

Seeing Hawke scandalize half of Hightown with his bare skin was worth coming to the party, but nothing that evening was more pleasing than Starkhaven’s own Prince choking on his drink at their entrance.

“Maker, Hawke - _this is a charity event!"_

The kilts were staying.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the piece! Check out more entries to the Handers RBB 2018 on Tumblr at [Handers-Time](http://handers-time.tumblr.com)!
> 
> You can always find me on my blog, [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul](http://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com).
> 
> Comments, kudos, and concrit are welcome and appreciated!


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